Kissing Bridge Classic

Yesterday was the Kissing Bridge Classic, a new gravel race in Meriwether County hosted by Chainbuster Racing.  I've ridden a little in Meriwether County but only on paved roads.  I really enjoyed getting to ride on some dirt roads in this beautiful part of the state.

James is one of our new friends in the Macon cycling community.  He mapped out the route for the Kissing Bridge race.  I liked it a lot.  The terrain wasn't too difficult (gently rolling), but it had a number of punchy climbs that I used to my advantage because I'm a good climber.  Every time I got to a hill, I tried to go up it hard to gain a few seconds on the competition.  The route was also technical for a gravel race because there were so many washboards, gravelly ruts, and potholes that required constant concentration.  I think this helped me to keep my mind in the race - don't let up, don't let up...

Robert and I headed out early yesterday morning for Fitzgerald Fruit Farm, the staging area for the race.  There was a long option (61 miles) and a short option (30 miles).  There were also various classes for male and female, including open, masters, single speed, Clydesdale, and ebike.  Robert and I both raced masters.  Because more men race, their masters classes were divided into Masters (40-49), Grand Masters (50-59), and Ultra Masters (60+).  All the Female Masters (40+) were in one class.  Groups started at two-minute intervals.  I was in the second wave, which included Long Masters and Long Female Masters.

It was a short roll to a nearby dirt road where we lined up by class.  Signs indicating the various groups were placed along the dirt road before the start line.  At first I didn't realize that Female Masters were starting with Masters (40-49).  As several men gathered near us, I joked to Sue, another Female Masters racer, that there sure were some ugly women in our race.  A few minutes later, I realized that the two groups were together and explained my initial confusion.  One of the guys had overhead my comment to Sue and said that he thought I was just being mean about the women in our race!  I told him that I hope I would never be mean like that.  We all had a good chuckle.

There was another funny moment in the staging area.  A woman wanted to know the mileages where the aid stations would be and asked other nearby riders, "Where are the stoppy things?"  A guy reached over, squeezed her brakes, and said, "Right here."

I was glad for the lightheartedness because I tend to get worked up before a race.  As I was writing this race report and looking at the Chainbuster Racing website, I found their words of wisdom about racing in general:

"Don't overthink it.  Racing is both a challenge and a time to cut loose and play.  Intensity can overtake intention and suck the fun out of anything, but our hope is that you reconnect with freedom of movement and find new ways to challenge yourself."

I'm going to remember these words for the future.

My group started at 9:02 AM.  The race director had noted a large mud puddle within the first mile.  When I got there, I rode to the right side of the road to avoid the puddle.  Just then, a guy flew past me on the left, splashing mud all over me.  Oh, well.

I rode solo a lot, but occasionally I got to ride with another rider, a few others, or even a bonafide peloton.  Every time I rode with others, I took as much advantage as I could of drafting and picking up time.  I was pretty sure I was in the lead for Female Masters.  However, I had to be wary of slowing down or losing focus.

I remembered how much proper fueling had helped me in the Maysville race last month.  Therefore, I was diligent about fueling yesterday.  One of my bottles had Beta Fuel, which is the highest-octane powder mix that Robert and I use.  (The other bottle had plain water.)  I also carried an unwrapped Clif Bar in my jersey pocket.  Next time I'll carry it in the wrapper (torn apart ahead of time) because I think that will keep it from sticking to my jersey.  About halfway through the race, I was trying to fish out the bar.  I managed to tear off a large chunk.  I thought I had packed some kind of chocolate flavor, but when I looked at it, it wasn't dark like the brownie flavor, and I didn't even seen any chocolate chips or chunks.  I put it in my mouth but couldn't discern the flavor, just vague sweetness.  I decided that it was a calorie-flavored Clif Bar.  Whatever it was, I was going to eat it.  By the way, I checked the wrapper when I got back to the car.  It was, in fact, a Chocolate Chunk with Sea Salt Clif Bar.  Sometimes bike food can taste weird or even icky during an intense event.

Later in the race, I caught up to Beth White, whom I met a few years ago on a brevet.  She was in the Open Female class, which had started with the first wave.  We rode together off and on for much of the rest of the race.  Often during a race, I get a a snippet of song stuck in my head.  This time I kept singing in my head, "Beth White," to the tune of "Meg White" by Ray LaMontagne.

About two miles before the end of the race, we crossed the Red Oak Creek Covered Bridge, known locally as the eponymous "kissing bridge."  It's the longest and oldest covered bridge in Georgia, and with a span of more than 410 feet, it's also one of the longest covered bridges in the South.

As I approached the bridge, I thought about Horace King, who built it in 1840.  He's a fascinating person.  I first learned about him in 2018 when I saw him on a mural entitled Native Waters, which runs the length of an entire block of DeKalb Avenue on the east side of Atlanta. The mural includes a picture of him and the words "Horace King - Bridge Builder."  I was inspired to learn more about him.  He was born a slave, but his owner saw how brilliant he was and taught him to read, write, and build bridges, which was illegal.  Horace King was the most renowned covered bridge builder in the South.  He was so proficient that he earned enough money to buy his freedom.  I thought I remembered reading that none of his covered bridges still stand in Georgia, but I was mistaken.  When I learned that he built the "kissing bridge" that we would visit in this race, I was very excited.

The kissing bridge seemed a lot longer than I expected as I rode my bicycle through it.  That's because I went from a bright, sunny day into the dark interior of the covered bridge.  All I could do was hold as straight a line as I could, right down the center, and pray I didn't hit the close boards that ran parallel on either side.  I was grateful to make it safely all the way across!

I've been in good form the past few weeks.  Form comes and goes.  You can't really control it, and so you just have enjoy it while you have it.  The best is when it coincides with a race!  I had ridden hard and steady the whole race without redlining.  It was enough to put me across the finish line first!

Fitzgerald Fruit Farm was such a neat place to have the race.  It was buzzing with activity afterwards.  Robert and I got BBQ from a food truck.  Then, we went into the open-air farmers market and got some peach ice cream and freshly picked strawberries.  (I would have picked my own strawberries if I hadn't just raced 61 miles.)